


Clementia

by RooOJoy, Rosella_Burgundy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Draco Malfoy, Curse Breaking, F/M, Forgiveness, Redemption, Roman Myths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 00:11:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17436146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RooOJoy/pseuds/RooOJoy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosella_Burgundy/pseuds/Rosella_Burgundy
Summary: A cursed statue sends Hermione and Draco into an alternative reality where they have to work together in order to stay alive. A voyage through forgiveness and redemption.





	Clementia

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to the group Dramione Fanfiction Writers for hosting this fest - we're having tons of fun playing in the world JKR created and own nothing.  
> There a brief part whit a threat to non-con, but no actual action.

****

 

**Clementia**

* * *

 

 

 

In her many years of experience as a Curse Breaker, Hermione Granger found that talking to herself helped her process what were usually complex spells and translations. 

“As you try to prove yourself qualified- no, this is not the right translation.” She pinched the bridge of her nose as her eyebrows knitted together, staring at the inscription engraved into the base of the statue that she had been studying.

“ _ Dignus, digni, digno, dignum, digne, digno _ ,” she whispered again to herself as she tapped her lip thoughtfully with her quill. “Adjective, masculine singular - Why do you have so many possible meanings?”

Hermione huffed and stood from her hunched position, meeting the stone, beaded eyes of the statue before her. Glaring at the beautiful figure of the goddess that was mocking her with a perfectly chiselled smile, the witch dropped her overly filled notebook and turned to the Roman Forum. From the little alcove where the altar to the goddess stood, she could see the massive Arch of Constantine and the tall arches of the facade of the Colosseum. 

The  _ Babbani  _ \- that’s how they called Muggles in Italy - had strategically positioned street lights and floodlights to illuminate the monuments perfectly. It was a breathtaking sight and she was able to calm the swirling thoughts her brain kept spinning with. Looking at the majestic display of stars in the clear sky of Rome, she took a deep breath of the winter night, readying herself for another go at translating the words etched beneath the Roman Goddess.

“Bushy hair, nose stuck up in the air...what are the odds that you are a Granger?” 

Hermione jolted and screeched at the sound of that low, husky voice that came from behind her. She wasn’t one to normally be snuck up on, and she quickly had her wand held defensively in her palm as she turned around. Noticing the smirking face of the wizard that was leaning with his arms crossed on an old statue with missing limbs, she scoffed and rolled her eyes, but didn’t dare loosen her grip on her wand.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice calm even though her heart was galloping from the scare that he had given her.

Malfoy was looking at her, head tilted on a side and an amused grin playing on his pointy face. If he had been threatened by her battle stance, he didn’t show it, his face one of calmness. “Are you still a Granger, or should I call you Weasley now?” Draco Malfoy uncrossed his arms and took a step towards her, his cloak sweeping against the naked, stone body of the statue.

 

“Have you followed me?” Hermione was ready to stun him and go back to her translation. She had exactly forty eight hours before she needed to bring her findings to the Italian Minister, and at this moment, she had absolutely no time to spend on this worthless git.

Draco stood tall and smoothed his platinum hair back before answering. “No, Granger. I’m here on official Ministry business, and the Italian Aurors specifically suggested to me to take a walk on the  _ Via Sacra _ towards the  _ Colosseo _ . They assured me that the view was beautiful, and they were right, it did not disappoint,” he said, the last part falling from his lips lazily. He quirked a playful eyebrow at her, and Hermione blinked in confusion, her mouth dropping open and her wand falling from its upright position.

Clearing his throat, Malfoy approached her study site, delicately running his hand over the cold granite hand of the goddess, before stooping to pick up Hermione’s notes. He began shuffling through the pages. 

His snooping snapped Hermione out of her bewilderment. “Put those down! And don’t touch anything. This statue is cursed.” She quickly holstered her wand and reached out to snatch her notes back, but Malfoy lifted his arm so that she couldn’t reach them. He peered down at her with one questioning brow rising higher on his face, and she continued with hurried words, “Muggles have been disappearing from this altar and reappearing only days after, completely terrified and leaving the  _ Obliviatori  _ with the tricky task of deleting their memories and any other Muggles’ involved.” 

She stared up at him, his face passive, but his eyes searching her own. She refused to break away from his gaze, proving to him that she was indeed telling the truth. Slowly, he handed her back her parchment. Grabbing her paperwork from his gloved hands, she knelt down and started collecting the rest on her supplies, shoving them deep inside her bag. After this unexpected and rather unpleasant encounter, she was not in the right mindset to get anything else done.

“Are you going to the Ministry Party?” 

His sudden question stopped her mid-motion of her placing a large rag inside her sack, and she slowly stood, turning to face him. His slate grey eyes were on her again, holding her under his gaze. She noticed his cheeks were pink from the brisk air, she supposed, while his fringe kept blowing down towards his eyes. 

When Hermione didn’t answer, he averted his gaze and looked at the statue. “I just assumed you were working for the Italian Ministry and that you would attend the New Year’s party tomorrow night.”

“I am.” Her voice was low and cautionary.

“Would you like to go with me?”

“Scuse me?” Hermione glared at him before continuing, her voice mixing icily with the frigid air around them. “What makes you think that I would go anywhere with a narrow-minded Death Eater, that I haven’t even talked to in-”

“Six years, Granger!” Draco interrupted her, his words laced with defensiveness. “It’s been six, bloody years since the end of the war and you still have prejudices towar-”

“Oh,” Hermione stepped closer to the man that suddenly didn’t seem so intimidating. “Did  _ you  _ just called  _ me _ prejudiced? I’m not.”

“I did! You called me a narrow-minded Death Eater, I’m not.”

They scowled at each other, chests rising and seething in anger, leaning toward the other. Hermione could feel her curls spark in agitation, her emotions getting the better part of her. She noticed the tip of Draco’s nose and the growing colour under his lashes now beginning to match his pink cheeks. 

Hermione had seen him often at the Ministry, having cooperated with the Auror Department in more than one investigation that involved cursed objects. She had always made a point to avoid Malfoy, moving her eyes to the floor when they were in the same conference room and changing her path so that she wouldn’t be forced to cross his way. The truth was that she loathed him and wanted nothing more than to hex him blind for what he had done during the war, particularly what he hadn’t done at the manor when his psychopathic aunt was torturing her. He had just stood there and watched. So, of course, she thought that he was a racist idiot and in order to change her mind, he would have to: 

“Prove it!” Their voices rang out in unison in the cold night air. 

Suddenly, the statue next to them emitted a bright, shimmery light that engulfed Draco and Hermione, magically petrifying them so that they couldn’t move a muscle. With a loud crack, the statue snapped out of its stillness. The goddess smiled at them and stretched her limbs, not a care in the world that they were standing motionless, their eyes the only thing able to follow her movements. In only a few short breaths she stepped down from her podium and began to move with purpose around them. She had an olive branch in her left hand, and she put in the offerings bowl that was resting in her right hand, reciting something in Latin. Hermione could only make out a few words:  _ change, tomorrow, beginning. _

The world around them vibrated as the light seemed to grow brighter, and the physical world that they were supposed to be standing in grew fuzzy and blurred like the images in the old telly at Hermione’s grandmother’s house when the reception was poor. A buzzing sound accompanying the now violent quaking of the ground seemed to break them of their immobility,   prompting Draco and Hermione to cover their ears, palms pressing firmly to block the sound. Hermione looked around for the goddess, only to meet the wide and astonished gaze of Draco Malfoy. 

Just as suddenly as it all started, everything stopped. Hermione averted her gaze first, frantically searching the area around them, only to discover that they were not in the Roman Forum anymore. Through short panicky breaths, she assessed the situation, doing what she did best. She picked up the notebook that miraculously was her only possession that survived their odd journey and briefly pursued her notes, voicing things out loud. “Disappearance of Muggles, Goddess statue moving...Merlin! We just activated the curse!”

“Granger…” 

Malfoy’s blond head appeared in her peripheral vision. She barely acknowledged him and resumed her fumbling of pages. “Victim claims to have been teleported into their worst nightmare. Oh for Godric's good heart!” 

Hermione’s eyes scanned the land around her again. A field of damp grass extended as far as eyes could see, the sun had already sunk beyond the tops of the trees in the far horizon. Not far from where they stood was a small hill, a lonely tombstone stood atop. Hermione hurtled forward, not caring what could possibly stop her, but she had to know. This dreary image was all too real, and she feared that she would recognize the name that was etched into the stone. She raced forward, oblivious to Malfoy’s calls behind her, and as she panted up the hill until she was close enough to read the epigraph. Her notebook fell to the ground with a wet thud.

_ Harry James Potter 31/07/1980-02/05/1998 _

Hermione sucked the air in quick with short breaths, her head swiftly growing clouded and overwhelmed by the hyperventilation. This couldn’t be happening, there is no way this was a reality. She needed to wake up, she had to get back to what was real, but how… how was she going to be able to do anything if Harry was dead?

With a firm grip, warm hands closed around her shoulders, gently shaking her. Hermione was kneeling in front of the grave, the coldness beginning to soak through her trousers. She didn’t remember falling to her the ground. She had her hands pressed over her mouth and a stream of tears wet her cheeks.

“Granger, get up!” Malfoy gently but forcibly pulled her up to stand and turned her towards him. Grey steely eyes fixed into hers. “This is just an alternative reality created by the curse. Potter is very much alive and as irksome as ever. I work with him, remember?”

She blinked owlishly at him, panic still clamping down her lungs. “Get a grip, Granger. You are the only one that can take us out of here!” Draco averted his eyes and scanned the landscape around him. “We need to seek cover before Death Eaters find us. If in this reality Potter is dead, that means that-”

The air shifted, taking the rest of Draco’s words and nearly knocking them off their feet. Four hooded figures appeared in the grassy plane, and as they surrounded them, Hermione saw the metallic masks that concealed their faces, making her shudder in fear. Dreadful memories flooded her mind, but she quickly remembered the battlefield mindset that ultimately kept her alive. In a quick movement, she freed her wand from the holster and aimed it at the closest Death Eater. A quick flick down and then up with her wand, and a red flash streaked across the air, hitting the masked man in the chest and leaving him stunned on the ground. 

Malfoy drew his weapon a moment later as she turned to face a second Death Eater, but before she could cast another spell, a third person disarmed her. She watched as her wand flew from her hand and landed before one of the masked wizards. 

With a chuckle, the man collected her wand and pocketed it. As he rose back to face the duo, he removed his face disguise and spoke, “Malfoy, you were right after all.” Strands of long dirty blond hair fell out of his black hood.

“Rowle?” Draco recognized the Death Eater, a furrow instantaneously forming on his forehead.

“Voldemort will be so pleased with you.” The voice of one of the other Death Eater’s came muffled and metallic from behind his mask.

“Her capture will finally extinguish the rebellion,” the third one muttered as he paced to his stunned fellow and reinnervated him.

Malfoy walked closer to Hermione, putting himself between Rowle and her quivering body. Whether from the intense adrenaline or maybe fear, her heart rapidly drummed in her chest as blood roared in her ears so she didn’t hear the whispered words that Draco shot her way. She just barely noticed his back straightening so that he could stand tall.

“Remind me how I was right, Rowle,” he said, arrogance thick in his voice.

“You just love to be praised, don’t you?” Rowle clipped in a low dangerous growl.

“I love to be right, and I always am.” Hermione didn’t know what Draco was doing. She didn’t understand what game he was playing, her brain still in chaos from the situation they were suddenly thrown headfirst into.

“You are a fucking bitch, Malfoy.” Crossing his arms, Rowle went on in an almost bored tone, “When we found Potter’s gravesite, you said that it would be wise to guard it. You were confident that she would have come to visit him at some point.”

“And you didn’t believe me.” It wasn’t a question.

“No. For years you kept saying the Mudblood is the smartest witch you know, and all of a sudden I’m supposed to believe that you think she’s stupid enough to come in the open to say  _ hi  _ to her long lost shag.” 

Hermione flinched at the insult that she had not heard for many years. Her eyes darted between Rowle’s face and Draco’s back, her brain whirling uncontrollably in its attempt to make sense of all or this. Hermione inhaled sharply in tiny little gasps of air that quickly turned into a shallow panting. What was Draco doing? Did he have anything to do with this curse? Did he set everything up so that they would be sent to a reality where he could be a Death Eater again, where he could finally have fame and glory by delivering her to Voldemort? Malfoy’s next words confirmed her fears.

“But I was smart enough to set up some sort of alarm if she ever turned out.” 

In a rustling movement of robes, Draco turned to her and magically bound her wrists together. She tried to resist but without a wand, she could nothing. He erased the distance between them and grabbed her forearm, leaning close to her. His warm breath caressing her frozen ear made her painfully aware that she was at his mercy. 

As she started mumbling to herself under her breath, evaluating her chances of survival and trying to find a way to escape him, Draco squeezed her flesh harder and whispered, “I have to play along, for now. It’s our best chance. Trust me, Hermione.” He then straightened up and searched her face, trying to capture her gaze, but she kept averting her eyes, thinking of all the other options they could have if he just apparated somewhere safe with her. His irises reflected the pale grey light of the moon, shining in determination and concern. “And don’t do anything stupid,” he added.

“Let’s take her to the Ministry if you are done with your canoodling,” Rowle barked and he twisted, his cloak billowing in the air as he apparated away. 

Hermione watched as the other Death Eaters insisted that they would wait for Draco to go first. He didn’t argue with them and instead picked up her notes before giving her a steely gaze and mouthing, “Hold on tight,” before the world pulled inward and twisted them away.

The landed in the dark back alley of Whitehall where Rowle stood waiting, leaned casually against the brick wall. He silently motioned for them towards an old phone booth. Still magically shackled and being led by Malfoy, she followed in his footsteps towards the guest entrance of the Ministry of Magic. He opened the broken glass door, and the first thing Hermione saw inside the red telephone booth was a poster with her face on it. 

The witch peering down from the moving picture was a stranger. Although she bore the same bone structure, her cheeks were defined, her forehead a bit wider, and her face looked older, harsher. Her hair was tamed, tightly braided and slicked back in a way that was almost unrecognizable. There were dark smudges under her eyes, and dozens of tiny white scars scattering her flesh. In an endless loop, the Hermione portrayed in the wanted sign aimed a wand at whoever had taken the photograph and shouted a curse that erupted from the tip of her weapon just to vanish when the picture started again. A written warning stood boldly in black prints:  _ Brain of the Rebellion, Dangerous, Do Not Approach _ .

Before she had watched the picture move through twice, three loud cracks broke the darkening night behind them. The remaining Death Eaters strode towards them, the one arriving first beckoning them inside the booth. Draco ushered her into the booth before stepping inside behind her and shutting the door. He was pressed up against her and she could feel the warmth of him even through her cloak. He motioned for her to stay quiet and pushed the buttons 62442 after hesitating with shaky fingers. Her brain swiftly thought back to the night that she had visited the Ministry with Harry, Ron, Ginny, Neville, and Luna back in their fifth year. She was momentarily surprised that Voldemort’s followers had begun using the phone booth again as an entrance, but also that they used the same passcode the Ministry employees still used in their own reality, the numbers spelling out the simple word, magic. Lucky guess from Draco.

They descended down into the ground, the black tiles and dimly lit lobby of the Ministry coming into view. As her eyes adjusted, she noticed the long atrium looked exactly as it had when Hermione broke into the building with Harry and Ron during their Horcrux hunt. Her heart ached painfully at the thought of Harry, dead in this reality. She couldn’t help but wonder what had been his fate, where was Ron in this reality, and what was this entire world she had just been thrown into?

They approached the centre of the atrium where the gigantic monument of the mightiness of magic stood ominously tall. The wizard and the witch sculpted sitting on two thrones seemed to mock her while Draco led her past them. She was so enthralled with the faces and bodies of hundreds of men, woman, and children that were piled together to make the thrones that she didn’t notice that Malfoy was leading her towards the lifts with his own uncertain steps.

Rowle had regained the lead and walked in front of them, the other Death Eaters that had made up their posse disappeared inside the lift adjacent theirs. Malfoy’s grip was strong against her arm but not painful, his thumb rubbing little circles across the fabric at the back of her arm. Hermione didn’t know if he was fidgeting or trying to communicate with her. 

She chanced a glance up to his face, but quickly diverted her gaze when he put a bit more pressure on her arm and turned his face from her in just the tiniest of movements. She really didn’t know what was going on. Part of her wanted to fight for Malfoy’s wand and attempt an escape while it was only two on one, but the other part felt compelled to trust that maybe Malfoy knew what he was doing. Both possibilities seemed like the same outcome of death was the end result. She shivered at the thought, and her captor began rubbing her arm again with his thumb.

As the lift shifted backwards and downward the Death Eater kept shooting glances at the two of them, narrowing his eyes sceptically at their joined limbs, probably wondering why Malfoy felt the need to restrain her like that since he, unlike she, was armed. Draco kept his eyes trained on the golden gate until it opened with an eerie screech, granting them access to Level Ten.

The floor and walls were tiled in black like the Atrium, floating lanterns projected dancing lights on the reflective surface of the shiny tiles. Rowle led them down the hallway and past many doors. As he slowed and stopped in front of one, Hermione gasped in recognition - this was the exact same courtroom she had assisted Umbridge in when the Trio had managed to steal the Slytherin’s Locket. 

Slowly, the door pushed open and she was led inside the large room. She tried to keep it together, to rule her breathing - in through her nose and out through her mouth - but as her eyes swept across the courtroom, dozens of men sneering down at her from high benches they finally landed on the wizard in the middle. She was met by the grey, serpentine face of Voldemort. A horrified scream escaped her mouth, ripping her throat as she cried out. After only a moment, there wasn’t any noise as if someone had silenced her.

At her side, Draco sucked air through his contracted lips while his hand dug deeply, and now painfully, in her upper arm. Hermione shook uncontrollably next to Malfoy and wondered for someone that was about to be praised and rewarded, why he looked so utterly terrified.

“My boy…” the Dark Lord greeted him with his honeyed voice. Chills ran through Hermione’s veins, erupting over her skin and making her limbs quake harder. Malfoy briefly glanced to her, eyebrows drawn together in concern before returning his focus to the front and slightly bowing his head in a sign of respect and submission to his former master.

Voldemort turned to acknowledge Hermione. It took absolutely everything inside of her to regain her composure. She closed her eyes for a fraction of a second and summoned her brightest Patronus memory as a beacon of light in this dark, dark world. She opened her eyes and held her head high in a self imposed, proud stance. It took all her effort not to shriek again when Riddle gave her a poisonous smirk in return.

“Welcome, Ms Granger. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Hermione didn’t answer, she was afraid to open her mouth and betray herself with the scream that she was desperately trying to hold on to.

“Draco, good boy.” The words came out odd as though the Darkest Wizard of all times was lauding his puppy.

Draco froze beside her, eyes wide and stormy grey.

With jerky movements, Voldemort stood and clapped his hands; an eerie chuckle permeated the room and pierced through Hermione’s eardrums. She flinched but remained tall. 

“What a perfect timing. Tomorrow, it’s New Year’s Eve. What better way to celebrate than a public execution at the striking of midnight?” His cheerful words were like a punch in her guts. He simply proclaimed her death as though he was announcing the menu for dinner. Not even in her worst nightmares, had she faced something so heart wrenching as this.

“Hermione…” Her name came out as a hiss and sounded twisted, damning, and wrong. “I am not so heartless as you and your lot think me to be. I will let you decide how my boy Draco will kill you tomorrow night.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Draco released Hermione’s forearm as she collapsed on the floor like a limp doll. For a moment, just a split second, his eyes widened and he felt the fear crawl up his face to settle in his eyes. He looked down at the crumpled form of the woman he was just ordered to kill and controlled his face into a disgusted sneer. His body betrayed him as his toes began pulsating, and his heartbeat fretfully, powerfully pumped blood through his veins. He wanted to scream and curse, but he knew that he had to buy Hermione and himself some time to pull her notes of the curse apart. They had to be able to get themselves from this horribly wrong reality. 

The faces of the Dark Lord’s most humble of servants surrounded them on benches, and he forced himself to remain passive - something he hadn’t worked so hard to do since the end of the war. His mind kept repeating though,  _ No, not Granger  _ in a monotone loop, rendering him unable to think straight. He couldn’t allow it, he couldn’t let the Dark Lord see his thoughts. He needed to collect the little courage he had and play the part of the devoted subject. He needed to save Hermione. There had to be a way to break the curse.

In a billowing of robes, the Dark Lord floated from his podium and put a hand on Draco’s shoulder in gratitude. He barely managed to contain a shudder when the old man’s voice slithered out, “You are in charge of her until the end, do as you please with her, but I want her face intact so that everybody will see and recognize her at the execution.” 

Draco nodded, his head snapping up and down mechanically. Turning to Rowle, Voldemort instructed, “Give the announcement and make sure that the news reaches the Rebels! I want them to try to rescue her tomorrow. This is our chance to kill them all!” The deformed wizard exited the courtroom with an eerie laugh that echoed within the black walls.

“I can take her to the cells for you, Malfoy,” Rowle offered, a glint in his eye as he licked his lips. “I have some unfinished business with the Mudblood,” he finished, his smile showing nasty yellowing and brown teeth, the unspoken words hanging from his mouth.

“We all do, but you heard our master, she is mine to do as I please, and won’t leave my side.” Draco helped Hermione up from her place on the floor, a little more roughly than he had intended, but the immense pressure he was attempting to lock away behind his shields, was entirely too heavy and threatening to break him in front of far too many people that would question his motives. He ignored the quiet titters from the people still seated in the stands and pushed Hermione toward the door.

At the threshold, another face that he recognized from the war appeared, his crooked smile and scarred face one Draco wished to never see again. Before the man could utter a word, Draco gave him a scathing look that he hoped would keep the man quiet and in his own space. He ushered Hermione through the threshold and far from Dolohov’s eager looks. He profoundly wished he could use the Cruciatus Curse on him so that he could wipe the filthy thoughts out of his head. 

Once in the hallway, he took a breath of relief and moved in the direction of the holding cells down the corridor. In their better reality, in their  _ real  _ reality, Draco had waited for his trial in one of them when the war was over. He had thought about taking her to the manor, but he didn’t know if the estate still belonged to the Malfoys in this screwed up world. He couldn’t risk exposure to their already precarious situation. Apparating there without knowing what they would walk into was far from a smart move, and even asking about it could raise suspicion.

The second Draco moved the barred cell gate behind them, enclosing them in relative safety, Hermione snapped.

“Was this your plan all along? Did you know about the statue?” With a leap, she pounced on him and beat his chest with her wrists still bound together. He stumbled backwards until his back hit the wall, and met her fire blazing eyes with a steely, hurt gaze. “You did it on purpose didn’t you?” she insisted, this time hitting him hard against his cheek, making his eyes water. 

“Granger, stop it.” He delicately put his hands on her fists to still them before she could strike him again. “I’m so sorry,” he pleaded, and his voice seemed to calm her for a second as her muscles relaxed for a moment, but her eyes quickly changed back into two narrow, burning embers. 

“Why didn’t you just apparate us somewhere safe?”

Draco sighed, slipping out of her hold, and running his hands through his hair in frustration. “Where, Granger, would you have expected me to take us? We don’t know what is safe in this reality.” He paced the small cell, avoiding her gaze. “Voldemort would have found us, no matter. I have the Mark, remember?” He stopped and looked at her, the fire in her eyes slowly burning away as she rolled her lip between her teeth. “He tracks Death Eaters with it. Karkaroff was the only one that found a way to elude the spell for a while, but in the end, we both know he met a rather dreadful end,” he finished quietly, knowing that she now understood.

Heaving and panting, she turned away to hide the tears that Draco had already seen were forming at the corner of her eyes. He was at a loss. They were stranded in a nightmare, and she didn’t have any faith in him. He couldn’t really blame her, but it was also infuriating that after all the time that had passed, after how hard he had worked to clear his name, she was still so caught up in the past that she couldn’t give him the most minute chance to prove himself. 

The instinct to roughly grab her and shake her while demanding that she listen to him, to believe him, and to tell her to stop being a stubborn wench was powerful, but his mind knew that it wouldn’t be at all productive to their situation and stopped him from being impulsive. He slowly reached out to her, knowing that she was like a wounded cat - cautious of him yet willing to strike in defence - and he lightly touched her arm. He wasn’t surprised when she flinched and backed away from him. He bit his lip, wondering what they should do now, and walked back to the wall, sliding his back down until he sat on the ground, legs folded under him.

He reached inside his cloak and extracted Hermione’s notebook. Her notes were spectacular, just as he had imagined they would be - neatly handwritten in fine and orderly calligraphy, the records were easy to read and understand at a glance. Draco knew that she had always thrived in knowledge, researching among stacks of books. They didn’t call her the brightest witch of her age for no reason. Even in her line of work, that was done mainly by wizards, she was proclaimed to be the best. He couldn’t give her a library, but maybe some analysis could calm her down enough to let him reason with her. He needed a distraction from his racing mind anyways, and quickly found a sense of peace in reading over her tidy scrawl.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed while he kept his head down and let Hermione work through her emotions. He listened as she paced the room, sighs mixed in with huffs of irritation at many intervals. At last, Hermione slumped down beside him and rudely snatched the notebook from his hands. He let her, a slow smirk growing across his features for his success in drawing her attention away from the upcoming execution. 

“What are you so happy about?” Hermione snapped. 

Replacing the quirk of his lips with a puzzled look, he answered. “Oh, nothing at all. So, do you think there is a solution to our little trouble in those excellent notes of yours?”

She groaned, and looked down at the pages, flipping a few ahead, and then one back, her finger trailing lightly across the page as she speedily read. “I don’t know, Malfoy. I sure hope so, but time isn’t really on our side,” she replied resigned.

He looked at his wristwatch - midnight. They had twenty four hours.

Hermione spent the rest of the night talking to herself on the cold stone floor and shuffling through pages. He allowed her to work in peace, but did offer to transfigure her cloak into a pillow to sit on, which she hesitantly agreed to. There wasn’t much to keep him occupied, and finally, he allowed sleep to overcome him, the hard cot in the corner his only refuge.

The sound and vibrations of his grumbling, hungry stomach woke him after a few hours of sleep. He jolted upright, his back aching and stiff. After a moment of confusion, when he thought he was still dreaming and would soon recognize the familiar walls of his bedroom, the sad reality hit him hard. A headache sprung to life within his skull, and Draco groaned as he rubbed a hand over his face. He heard Hermione scoff from her makeshift seat on the floor, and he noticed that she was still researching. Her hair was even more dishevelled, if a thing were even possible, as if she had been running her hands through it only to pull on the roots. Her eyes were rimmed red, the smudges of darkness showing how tired she was, and her lips were cracked from dehydration.

“Good to see that you were relaxed enough to get a good night sleep.” Her voice was dry and cutting to which, he sighed. He opened his mouth to speak but his tongue was too parched.

Not willing to leave Hermione alone in the cell, he summoned a pitcher of water and two glasses. She took the drink that he offered her with a grunt and glaring eyes.

Drinking his water, he thought about a nice heartfelt speech for Hermione. He supposed if he looked at it from her perspective, he would have been quite leery as well. He had never taken the time to actually talk to her, apologize to her the way he had done with so many others. It’s not that he didn’t want to, he just didn’t know how. He had wronged her on so many levels, and she sure as hell didn’t make it easy for him to approach her. 

He wanted to try to make amends and convince her that she could put her faith in his hands, but when he finally worked up the courage to speak, all he came up with was: “Please, trust me.” Draco put a hand on her shoulder. She didn’t move away this time, which he found encouraging so he spoke again when she met his gaze, “I saw your notes, there’s something about this curse...I think I know what I have to do.”

“Yes, I know what you have to do to as well. I’m glad you are okay with it.” He could hear the irony thick in her words and the sadness in her eyes was palpable. He didn’t quite understand what she was talking about. If she knew the answer to their problem, she would feel relieved.

“Please,” he repeated.

Throwing the notebook, she hit him square in the chest, and he caught it easily. He stared at her confusedly as she stood and begun a nervous pacing of the cell - wall to gate and back like a caged lioness. He watched her, contemplating what he should say next, but unsure of what would either help or cause her to lash out more.

Finally, she stopped and turned to him, a fire in her eye. “ _ You _ activated the curse when you touched the statue! This is  _ your _ doing! You are the one that needs to break the curse, and the only way to do it is for you to  _ kill _ me!”

His jaw fell open in disbelief. Shaking his head, he slowly slid his back up the wall until he was standing, his muscles were numb and sore from the uncomfortable sleeping position. “No, Hermione. I won’t kill you. We activated the curse when we both dared each other to prove we are not who we used to be.”

“No, Malfoy. The reports are clear. The victims of this curse were forced to do what they feared most in order to gain a second chance. You are afraid of killing! You couldn’t kill Dumbledore, and Harry said you almost got killed on duty because you didn’t use the Killing Curse to defend yourself during a difficult arrest!” 

Hermione’s voice rose until she was yelling by the end, cheeks flushed, and brow sweaty. Her hair was a mess of wild frizzy curls, tears barely contained on her lashes as her hands trembled in time with her lower lip. Draco fought the need to reach out and hold her, and he didn’t understand the urge until he saw tears glinting at the corner of her eyes. She was scared, utterly and totally terrified. 

He pushed himself off the wall and marched to Hermione, stopping her aimless strides with his arms. Although she fought him with all her strength, he embraced her tight, arms wrapped around her heaving back. He relaxed his hold around her only when she quit wiggling and slumped her head against his chest with a thick sob. He held her, rubbing her back slowly and rhythmically as she cried against him, her tears soaking his cloak.

When she quieted, he pulled her from his chest and lightly lifted her face to meet his own. Her cheeks were splotchy, and the tip of her nose pink. He tried not to smile down at her, knowing she would not understand what he found so endearing in the moment. Instead, he quietly spoke, hoping his words would help her see what he was trying to say. 

“I am convinced that this is a trial, something to bring us  _ both _ to absolution - a journey through forgiveness. I know you hate me, but please, try to have some faith in me. See it as a forced partnership, if you wish.” He smirked when she chuckled lightly.

“What if I’m right and you remain trapped here until you kill me?”

“The odds of  _ you  _ being wrong is not something I would normally bet against, but in this case, I think I may have bested you, finally,” he retorted smugly.

They passed the time sitting together on the plastic cot, backs against the stone wall and legs outstretched hanging from the edge. They poured through the notebook over and over, attempting to find any evidence to support Draco’s plan. At ten minutes until midnight Rowle came to announce that they were ready. 

As the Death Eater preceded them down the tiled hallway, Hermione nudged his arm. He looked to her casually and watched her eyes travel from his own to the belt of Rowle’s waist holster - there, tucked neatly into the side was Hermione’s wand. As much as he was relieved to know where her weapon was, he couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that the man had kept it as some sort of fetishy keepsake - sick bastard. He tilted his head a fraction and blinked back at her, hoping to convey that he understood what she had intended. 

The Ministry lobby was awfully crowded. What once would be a joyous celebration - people dressed in their finest robes to celebrate the coming new year, the atrium decorated with golden banners, and tables filled with sparkling champagne and elf wine - was now an eerie and dark gathering. Wizards and witches stood around the central statue leaving just a narrow pathway free for them to walk to a podium where Voldemort was expecting them.

The crowd was loud with excitement, and Draco wondered what had happened to this reality’s Draco and Hermione. Were they here? Was the rebellion here to try to fight for her, or did they hear the rumours and laugh knowing their Hermione was just fine. He shook the thought from his brain, as curious as he was about that particular aspect of the Goddess’ curse. They had reached the stage, and the face of the Dark Lord leering down in excitement was one to erase anyone's curious thoughts from their brain. 

Heart pounding in his ears, Draco climbed the staircase and met the Voldemort’s excited face. He could hardly listen to the jolly New Year’s speech of defeating the resistance, and finally ridding the Wizarding world of Britain from the nasty breed of Mudbloods. Voldemort’s eyes flashed as the crowd cheered, and his attention fixed on Hermione’s figure, bounded to a magical chain that had sprung up from the podium floor.

“It’s time, my boy.” A pat on his shoulder made him shudder. The mad man’s gaze was expectant and excited. “Has she told you how she wants to die?”

Draco felt sick as he forced himself to nod, hoping not to be further questioned as he wasn’t sure that he could speak. He reluctantly stood in front of Hermione, and she lifted her chin to him. They exchanged a glance, and Draco saw that trust was burning in her irises.

As the crowd counted down the seconds to midnight, Draco slowly turned to Voldemort, standing between him and Hermione. He did nothing when the hall welcomed the new year.

“What are you waiting for, Malfoy?” Rowle’s voice prompted him.

“Do it!” The Dark Lord’s order cut through his eardrum.

“NO!” With a wave of his wand, Draco summoned Hermione’s wand and caught it easily, guarding her front while handing her wand to her behind his back.

The crowd was stunned into silence and the face of the Dark Lord was one of murderous thunder.

“Do you have feelings for the Mudblood?” A lone, accusing question came from the crowd.

“She put a spell on you…” Rowle mocked, causing quite a few laughs from the crowd.

Draco released her binds and stood protectively close to her body, fierce determination crackling in his irises.

“Shut up!” The Dark Lord slashed the air with his wand, resulting in Rowle choking on a gulp of air and the crowd promptly falling silent.

With mellifluous words he spoke, “Boy, you disappoint me. You will perish with the Mudblood tonight.” He smiled and aimed the Elder Wand to Draco’s chest. “Avada Kedavra!”

Draco stiffened and braced himself for the curse to hit him. He refused to close his eyes, watching the green, death bearing flash hurtle towards him. It never reached its target because Draco and Hermione, still clinging to each other, were suddenly engulfed by a bright white light. It expanded around them, a pulsing heat and vibrating buzz made his skin tingle and as quickly as it started, it stopped. They disappeared along with the shimmering light.

The second their feet touched the ground, Hermione disentangled herself from Draco’s embrace and stumbled away in the familiar landscape of the Roman Forum. Draco worked at catching his breath, eyes watching Hermione stride with purpose towards the statue that was once again made of still stone. Hermione’s bag and supplies were still there, scattered on the grass. A lonely page laid there with a scribble of her last attempted translation. Mumbling to herself, she finally wrote down a version of the inscription that made sense.

“You are really a bookworm, you know? We just nearly escaped death, and you go straight back to researching...” Malfoy quipped in attempted humour, but his voice was trembling.

“Oh, shut up,” she replied, a smile tugging her lips as she worked. Not more than a minute later, he noticed her eyes widen. She looked at him, her face lighting up. “Draco, I think I figured it out.”

She turned back to the statue and with a vindictive growl, pointed her wand at it, blasting the olive branch off of the statue. The complacent look was one he had seen many times before cross her features, but for the very first time, he was able to find the beauty in it. She really was an amazing witch, he thought as she magically stored all her supplies in her beaded purse. 

Reaching his side, she smiled and said, “We might still make it to the New Year’s party.” 

He chuckled. “Honestly, Hermione, I’d prefer to go back to my hotel. It’s been a stressful couple of days.” With a smirk, he met her eyes and reached out to grab her hand. “But I’d like to take you out to dinner tomorrow.”

The brown in her eyes softened, and she squeezed his fingers against her own. “Agreed, and you can call me Granger.”

He pinched his eyebrows together, confused. “Forgive me, after all, we went through I thought I could call you by your name,” he apologised, regaining his polite and chivalrous attitude.

“I’m still a Granger,” Hermione said, her cheeks tinted pink and her lip disappeared between her teeth for a second. “That’s what I meant. I never married Ron.” 

His heart swell. “Good.” He unlocked his fingers from hers and snaked his arm around her waist, pulling her close to his side. Leading her through the Roman Forum, away from the statue, he gazed down to her. When she looked up to him, he smiled, thankful that they were out of under the curse. Even more so, he was happy that they had finally found amends. “Happy New Year, Hermione.”

“Happy New Year, Draco,” she responded, stretching up on her tiptoes and planting a soft kiss on his jaw.

He felt the heat rise to his cheeks and cleared his throat, debating if he should just grab her and kiss her senseless here and now. He decided to at least wait for their first date for that, and instead asked, “Why did you destroy a two thousand year old statue, by the way?”

“The olive branch was the cursed object. That statue is Clementia, and she is the goddess of second chances and redemption. I suspect that she taught me a valuable lesson through that curse,” she explained, leaning against his side.

“To the both of us.” Draco knew that the curse taught them both something more valuable than either would be willing to admit right now. The weight of her pressed closely next to him was comforting coming from such an extreme experience, but there was something different too - like a barrier that had been built long before he ran into her yesterday had been shattered away to nothingness. It felt like they were both left raw and ready to build something new between them. 

“What is it that she chanted in Latin when she sent us in that awful alternate universe?”

She sighed before reciting, “As you try to prove yourself worthy in the eyes of the world, don’t look at any one’s virtue but your own. Redemption is met through a second chance. Trust an old enemy and forge a better tomorrow. So it begins.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are always appreciated.


End file.
